


Straight to Voicemail

by DapperPea (PeabodyTypes)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, James Bond - Ian Fleming
Genre: Minor Character Death, Other, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7364695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeabodyTypes/pseuds/DapperPea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vesper leaves voice messages for her brother Tristan. Tristan is busy with Q branch; who has time to respond to voicemails?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Straight to Voicemail

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Chea, my Vesper.
> 
> Written for the 007 Fest, for Team Q Branch.
> 
> Prompt: "Q and Vesper as siblings. Fluffy fam time." It's, uh... Well, it's them as siblings. Close enough.
> 
> In other news: call your family. Call your parents. Don't be an island.

Beeeeep.

“Tristan? It’s Vesper. I know we haven’t talked much, but it’s been a while. Just wanted to see what you were up to these days. I’ll call back later. Bye!”

 

Tristan was moving fast, just out of university. Technology was expanding faster than it ever had, and he felt on top of it all. The government was advertising for computer aide positions; he’d walk on to the job in no time. Just a few more applications.

 

Beeeeep.

“It’s Vesper. Do I have the right number? I’m pretty sure this is Tristan. Wanted to say hello. Call me back when you have a moment!”

 

He’d been caught snooping, hacking in where he shouldn’t be. He hadn’t meant to do much, really, just prove a little something, and maybe take some harmless data samples as evidence. Curiosity, that was all. But now he was finding bugs on his computer, surveillance and GPS and keylogging, all expertly made and infiltrated without him noticing. It was… Unusual, for him, to be on this side of it. He needed to clean up his computer, get whoever had bugged him off his trail.

 

Beeeeep.

“Tristan, I know you’re getting these; Mother said your number hasn’t changed in years. Don’t tell me the little unread message numbers don’t drive you mad; I know they do. Call me back? I want to hear my baby brother’s voice!”

 

He did not have his phone at the moment. Indeed, all of his personal belongings were currently sitting in a locker, while Tristan himself sat in a concrete room, dark mirror on one side and the red eye of a camera trained on him. His stomach was in knots; this wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be caught. He was supposed to be a genius, brilliant, a master of computers.

Stupid. Careless.

He berated himself incessantly, squirming in the uncomfortable grey plastic seat, until a small woman with the bearing of the Queen herself entered and sat herself across from him. A guard stationed himself at the door.

“Good evening, Tristan. I have a proposition for you.”

 

Beeeeep.

“It’s me. Mother said you got a job in the government, just like you wanted. You know I work in the Treasury; maybe we can get lunch? Let me know. I’m only a few minutes away, now.”

 

The new job was overwhelming and sudden and _brilliant_. He was often the first one in, his arrival creeping from eight in the morning to seven, and had to be forced out of the building at night when the last branch member left. A technician’s paradise. All the materials he could ask for, and orders to make what he’d always wanted: the impossible. He never wanted it to end.

 

Beeeeep.

“Hey. Mother hasn’t heard from you in a while. If you won’t call me, would you at least call her? She gets worried. …So do I.

Oh--I’ve been asked to represent the Treasury on a top-secret mission for some part of the government. Wish I could tell you more. I’ll be back soon, but if you call, I might not have reception. I love you. Stay safe.”

 

He should call her back, he really should. She said she wouldn’t have reception—he’d call her back in a few days, then, see if she’d gotten home yet. In the meantime, he’d been given his first real project—trying to hack into the newly-completed double-agent database, making sure it really was impregnable. He lived for the challenge. He’d prove himself.

 

 

 

He had made a few cracks in the armor, but ultimately, the database had been proven sound. Tristan had been promoted—now a true member of Q-branch. He should call Vesper so she could congratulate him, maybe go to dinner. He would get his own desk, his own projects; his innovation was allowed to run as far as it could. He was thrilled.

 

 

 

Wasn’t he supposed to do something? Ah, right—call his sister. Tristan rang a few times, but her phone seemed to be dead. Maybe she was still out of reception. Maybe she was paying him back for all those missed calls… He should build her a miniature satellite phone. Make sure it was blue, just like she liked. Maybe he’d put a charm holder on it—hadn’t she liked those? Or had she grown out of them? He couldn’t remember.

 

 

 

She was still out of reception. Or maybe the phone had died and she couldn’t get to a charger. No—that was impossible.

She worked in the Treasury. He had the authorization to check personnel files, didn’t he?

 

 

 

Tristen took a sick day. His heart felt like it was on fire, like it was made of stone.

 _Vesper Lynd: Deceased_. Killed, her file said, in the course of duty. Parents had been notified.

No. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be true. She had been part of the _Treasury_ , for heaven’s sake, it was safe, there was no way she could have… What sort of mission from the _Treasury_ could kill you? Being bored to death?

He laughed, short, humorless, hoarse.

 

He listened to his messages again.

 _I love you. Stay safe_.


End file.
